


Mistaken Meanings

by MadcapRomantic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feels, Fingering, FrostIron - Freeform, Happy Ending, IronFrost - Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Really Canon Compliant, Post Avengers, Proposals, Rimming, Sappy, Smut, Top!Loki, because they are idiots, bottom!tony, but not really, proposals gone awry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadcapRomantic/pseuds/MadcapRomantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three candles are lit, each sitting atop a polished silver dais. Their scents are mellow and sweet, like buttercream cake frosting, like petrichor, and their glow is warming.  A hand-crafted wooden box sits, hidden, pushed under an arrangement of flowers, directly across the table from the candles, the treasure inside quietly awaiting revelation. A meal has been prepped and is ready to serve; the only thing the night lacks is the company of a single man; Anthony Edward Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistaken Meanings

**Author's Note:**

> I gain no financial compensation for the writing or posting of my fanwork pieces. I acknowledge that all characters, settings, concepts and/or ideas belong to their respective creators. I claim ownership only to that which is of my own devising.
> 
> I do not give permission for this or any of my works to be re-posted on any other website. If you see this, or any other work of mine, posted on another website, please notify me immediately.
> 
> \---
> 
> Established relationship, post Avengers, not necessarily canon compliant. Loki wants to share forever with Tony, but of course the two of them manage to mess it up. First foray into The Avenger's fandom, though I have stalked it from the shadows for many a year. I apologize for any mistakes. One-shot.

Three candles are lit, each sitting atop a polished silver dais. Their scents are mellow and sweet, like buttercream cake frosting, like petrichor, and their glow is warming. A hand-crafted wooden box sits, hidden, pushed under an arrangement of flowers, directly across the table from the candles, the treasure inside quietly awaiting revelation. A meal has been prepped and is ready to serve; the only thing the night lacks is the company of a single man; Anthony Edward Stark.

Loki surveys his handwork, and though there is a smug smile about his lips, in the back of his mind a single thread of doubt prickles unkindly.

But there is no time left for doubt, not now, for, with a gentle sound, the doors to the elevator glide open and reveal to Loki the mortal creature of his affections.

Tony double-takes as he enters the room, wearing half a smile, half a look of concern. “What’s the occasion?” he asks, and Loki watches the movement of his throat as he swallows thickly. “Our anniversary was two months ago. I didn’t forget. Jarv?”

“Sir is correct; the date in which you and Mr. Laufeyson officiated your relationship is mid-way through October.”

“What did _I_ do?” Tony asks.

Loki fights the urge to rolls his eyes. “Nothing, Anthony. I-"

Tony’s eyes widen. “What did _you_ do?”

The urge overwhelms him and his eyes roll upward. “The charges brought up will likely be premeditated manslaughter unless you stay quiet long enough for me to speak more than a few words.”

Loki’s threat brings a smile to Tony’s face, but the engineer keeps his mouth closed.

“There is an occasion, but we will get there eventually. Now,” Loki says, his arm moving in a sweeping motion that invites Tony to turn his attention back to the room around them. “If you’d please have a seat, I’ve prepared us a meal.”

There’s a sly look about Tony’s face, but he remains quiet as he looks about the room, his small steps slowly taking him toward the the set table.

Loki brings their out their meal without further conversation, but the silence is broken when Tony takes his first bite and moans, loud and obscene. “Oh my god, did you _make_ this?”

There’s a smug smile curling the ends of Loki’s lips. “From scratch.”

Tony lets loose another moan as he takes his second bite. “Asgardian dish?”

“One of my own, shared with no other, though the ingredients were hard to translate into things I could find readily available here on Midgard.”

Loki watches Tony eat another bite before he picks up his own fork, spearing the dish and twirling the noodles around his fork. “The sauce is naught but a cream base, but the heat-”

“It’s just there, hidden until the end of the bite.”

“Good. It was strange trying to find a pepper to emulate those I’m used to cooking with. It’s warm, but not hot. The bacon-maple glaze is my own doing as well, a hint of sugar to balance the spice.”

“Bacon, chicken, _and_ prawns? You're trying to fatten me up, aren't you?.” Half of Tony’s dish is already consumed.

Ignoring Tony's comment, Loki continues speaking of his culinary creation. “And the cheese is local, upstate. Fresh.”

“A meal like this means only one thing, Lokes; you’re trying to butter me up. What do you want?”

Loki chuckles, low and sated. “Finish your meal,” are the only words he offers.

 _Feed him the food of me and mine, made from nothing, by my own hands_ a voice sounds from the back of his mind. One down, two to go.

The only reason Tony doesn’t lick his plate clean is because Loki pulls it from the table before he has the chance to. Just as Tony opens his mouth to protest, Loki raises and eyebrow and barks out the word, “couch,” before he can even squeeze a single syllable in.

Tony does as he’s told, but isn’t able to keep quiet about it. “Come on, just tell me what you want,” he whines as he unfurls on the couch.

Loki ignores him as he pulls a tray from the refrigerator, careful not to send the contents toppling over the rim. As he approaches the couch, Loki watches Tony’s eyes light up. “Chocolate dipped strawberries.” It’s a statement, but it sounds more like a question.

Folding one leg underneath him, Loki drapes himself over Tony’s side, plucking a single berry from the tray before setting the rest on the coffee table.

Expectantly, yet with a look of surprise, Tony opens his mouth and lets Loki slide the treat past his lips. There’s a fire burning in Loki’s heart, and only grows as he watches, aptly, as Tony chews and swallows.

“Must be something big you want,” Tony says as Loki feeds him another strawberry, moving to entangle their legs together.

Loki’s only response is to wait until the second strawberry is consumed. He leans forward to lick a errant speck of chocolate from Tony’s lips, and Tony relaxes further under the contact.

“New car?” he guesses, chasing Loki’s lips.

With a smirk, Loki does nothing more than feed him yet another strawberry. _Feed him with my own hands that which I can afford to give him, the fruits of my land and my labor._ One remains.

When Loki makes to move in order to retrieve the box on the table behind him, Tony halts him with a firm hand to his shoulder. He leans away for a moment, plucking a chocolate-covered strawberry from the tray and pushes it to Loki’s lips. Tony’s pupils are blown wide, and Loki holds in a sigh as a finger trails over his bottom lip. He begins to chew, then Tony leans forward and presses his lips to Loki’s own. At Tony’s growl, with a possessive hand gathering the fabric at his hip, Tony’s tongue sweeps in, chasing the taste of chocolate.

But Loki has other plans, and the frustrated huff Tony lets out as Loki pulls away isn’t enough to bring him back. Not yet, at any rate.

Loki leans up and pulls the box from the table, then pushes it, gently, into Tony’s waiting hands. An eyebrow is raised, but no question is asked, not verbally. When Tony pushes the lid up, he stills, completely. For a moment, Loki is worried his gift will be denied. But then Tony exhales, sharply. “You made this.” Another statement, the question apparent.

“I did.”

Tony’s fingers trace over the metals, his touch light, his attention focused. With great care, he pulls the bangle from where it rests against the velvet inlaid inside. “From what? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Loki smiles; Tony’s sharpness never fails to impress him. “I have spare of all that I used for you to look over as well, but you are correct in assuming it’s not from this world.”

The bracelet glimmers in the light given by the candles behind them, a deep, rich, gold-colored alloy inset with green.

Tony eyes him suspiciously. "What do you want?"

Loki forces his face to relax, despite the hammering of his heart. His reply is but a single word, an absolute truth; "you."

_And if he is to be yours, he will accept that which you create from your heart, for you’ve made it with your love._

Tony slides the band over his hand and onto his wrist, smiles cheekily, then pushes Loki back and climbs atop his lap. “You've got me.” To seal the proclamation, Tony’s lips descend on Loki’s.

His heart soars, sings. Tony is his, _his_ , and there are no words to describe how giddy Loki feels in this moment, the light of his life pressing kisses to his mouth. He can feel, taste the smile on Tony’s lips, who opens willingly when Loki traces his bottom lip with teeth and tongue. His hands gravitate to Tony’s hips, pushing them closer still, for Loki will not rest this night until Tony shakes under him, cries and sobs Loki’s name like it’s the only word he knows. His hands move between them, to the fly of Tony’s jeans, and-

“Pardon, sirs, but Miss Potts is attempting to reach you.”

Tony pulls away to answer Jarvis, which leaves his neck unprotected. Loki takes his opening, sinking his teeth lightly to the flesh of Tony’s throat, who shudders and moans before he can speak. “Tell her I’ll call her in the morning.”

“Again, pardon, but she says it’s quite urgent.”

Tony’s breath catches as Loki’s fingers rake across his thighs, trying to maneuver Tony into a position in which his pants can be removed. He presses his mouth to the shell of Tony's ear. "Jar, did she - _damn, Lokes_ \- say what it’s about?”

“It appears you’re late to the Gala at the Children’s Hospital.”

The both of them freeze, then scramble to stand up. “Oh, fuck, she’s going to kill me,” Tony laments as he and Loki hurry off to the bedroom closet. They are each stripped by the time they make it past the doorway, their previous mission left forgotten. “Damnit, Jarvis - what do I pay you for? Why the hell didn’t you let me know?”

The AI's voice sounds almost bored as he replies. “I did remind you no less than five times this evening. Miss Potts is still waiting for me to connect you, though I doubt anything she has to say will make you move faster. Shall I let her know you’ll be in attendance shortly?”

Tony’s affirmation is muffled by the fabric of the tie he holds in his mouth as he shoves his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.

“What kept you in the lab for so long? At least I had the excuse of preparing what was panning out to be _quite_ a lovely evening.”

“I’m not going to a gala for a bunch of sick kids in a god-damn busted suit!” Tony calls as he hustles to the bathroom, scooping a small dollop of pomade into his hands. He runs it through his hair, sweeping it back, and by the time he finishes, Loki is scrambling into the bathroom and wetting a washcloth.

“How did you manage to get chocolate on your ear?” he asks as Tony runs his hands through Loki’s hair.

“You’re the one who was licking it; it was probably you!”

They finish in the bathroom and re-enter the bedroom, each jamming shoes onto their feet, hopping and leaning against one another in their attempt to move faster than physically possible.

"So, we going with fourteen or twenty-seven?" Tony asks, knotting his tie.

Loki slaps his hands out of the way and fixes the tie himself. “They are _children_ , Anthony. Five will be fine.”

“Five? You sure? That means I’ll-”

“Yes, I know what it means. They will love it, and you _know it_.”

Tony pulls Loki down to his lips with a tug of his own tie, their shared kiss causing each to pause momentarily. When he pulls away, Tony winks, licks his lips. “We’re not done here."

Loki’s smile is predatory. “Oh, no, not even close.”

Tony is retreating out of the bedroom before another second passes, for Loki knows that, were he to linger, they’d never make it to the Gala.

“Bring up the feed from the event, would you, Jarvis?” Loki asks as he watches Tony, in his _other_ suit, take off from the balcony.

“Certainly, sir,” the AI replies as three different views of a populated banquet hall are broadcast against the windows. He idles a few moments, waiting for the main spectacle to arrive. Loki doesn’t wait long; shouts and cheers begin, and he watches as Tony, in his full Iron Man suit, lowers himself to the forefront of the stage.

“I’ll be on your left,” Loki says without even so much as waiting for a reply, cramming a small device into his ear. He gathers his magic to his hands, bids his armor into reality, and teleports across the city.

When he arrives, the children gasp his name, covering their little mouths with their hands, eyes excited. “Iron Man, behind you!” come their shouts.

Tony turns to him. “Loki, don’t you ever learn?” His admonition is playful, teasing.

“Nay, Man of Iron!” Loki shouts, raising his hands above his head, sending streaks of green smoke out all around him. “I’ve come for my revenge!” From the smoke gathering at his feet, he pulls three clones of himself who all move to surround Tony, each wearing a matching bloodthirsty look.

 _And now,_ Loki muses, _for the real fun._

It’s a practiced, choreographed number that goes off without a hitch (if, of course, one is ignoring the fact that they are nearly an hour late). Showboats, the both of them - Loki’s clones twirl and dance as, one by one, they converge on Tony only to dissolve into mist as a fist is sent through each of them. But, where one clone falls, two more are born from the mist.

“Get ready for the finale,” Tony’s voice informs him, via the small device in Loki’s ear.

On cue, Loki throws his head back and laughs maniacally, and all of the little children in the room gasp.

He hears the mechanical sound of Tony’s repulsors before they actually fire. Even though the blast is dialed down, it still hurts when it hits Loki square in the chest at near point-blank range. He isn’t really acting when he’s thrown backwards, skidding across the stage, coming to rest in a smoking heap upon the floor.

There is a beat of silence before the room is positively ringing from the cheers of the children, many of whom jump up and down in place for lack of any other outlet for their excitement.

Tony walks over toward him, outstretching his hand, and Loki takes the offered help and is brought to his feet. Together, they look out upon the crowd of nearly hysterical children, amused parents, and benefactors alike. and take a bow.

Loki’s armor disintegrates into nothing as Tony’s suit retracts and spits him out.

Pepper hustles on stage and shoves a microphone into Tony’s hand, though she shoots them both a sharp glare, hidden behind a polite smile.

“How is everyone doing tonight?” Tony addresses the room.

When Pepper comes to stand at Loki’s side, he knows what she’ll ask.

Loki pulls the device out of his ear and stores it in his breast pocket, leaning down so that he might speak his secret closer to Pepper’s ear. “I forgot what night it was,” he prefaces his apology with. “I’m sorry. But...”

Her eyebrows climb up her forehead. “Did you? Tonight?”

They can barely hear one another over the laughter of the room, sounding at the punchline of whatever joke Tony finishes.

He bites his lip before he speaks. “I asked him.”

Pepper’s face lights up, and he hopes, dearly, that she will remember this moment later, when she remembers to be angry at the both of them for their tardiness. Her head snaps to the side, her gaze following Tony’s gesturing hand. There, adorning his wrist, is the very same bracelet Loki had presented hardly a dozen minutes previously.

Pepper looks back to him, her smile so wide her lips practically curl to her ears. “I’m so happy for you!” she titters, giving his elbow a good squeeze. “I’m still pissed as hell that you’re late, but I’m happy!”

Whatever commencement speech Tony had prepared - or hadn’t, knowing him - finishes, and the band along the far side of the room begins to play, filling the empty space between the din of human conversation with music.

As Pepper ushers both Tony and Loki off the stage and into the gathered crowd of underage adorners, Loki can't help the smug smile about his face. True, he’d rather be many places than at the benefit, sharply dressed and signing various things shoved his way by chubby little hands, but, having been able to take a step back, he comes to appreciate the space, if only a bit.

Tony Stark is _his_.

As if he can feel Loki’s eyes oh him, Tony turns around and flashes a smile his way.

 

\- - - - - - -

Loki takes another sip of his martini, his third of the night. Midgardian spirits leave him wanting, but he prefers the variety over that of Asgardian alcohol. The olive bumps his lips as he drains the glass.

There is suddenly a hand on his lower back, turning him around. Loki plasters a smile to his face, knowing that it's Tony before he even catches a glimpse of the man. Behind Tony follows a somewhat portly, older fellow, hair long gone gray, face full of wrinkles and laugh-lines alike.

“Loki, I’d like to introduce Calvin Mayhew-Dunner, one of the new donors for the children’s hospital.”

Loki offers out his hand to shake, and the elderly gentleman takes it with enthusiasm. His grip is firm for such a weathered man.

“It’s good to finally have a chance to meet you, Loki. I’ve heard much about you.”

He rolls his eyes, though he smiles through the gesture. “It’s hard to be in Stark’s social sphere without having the media hound you.”

That gets Calvin laughing.

“So, a donor, are you?”

Calvin nods, sipping from his champagne flute. “New money, me; company went big this last year, and I’m happy to do what I can to help this great city.”

Loki makes a gentle sound of affirmation.

Tony, behind him, orders something from the bar. Loki is pleased when another drink is pushed into his hands.

“So, tell me; what, exactly, are you to Mr. Stark? The tabloids love to speculate, and I love to hate them.”

Tony’s usual response is a sly wink as he pulls Loki down for a kiss. The scandal-maker, that one. Though, it truly is fun to keep the media guessing.

But no, Loki’s heart is too light with the new development in their relationship. Too excited is he to share the news that he didn’t stop to think it anything other than good.

“Betrothed,” he replies, taking a long drink of his martini.

Beside him, Tony begins to cough and spit, covering his mouth with his elbow as he hacks.

But when Loki moves to help - take his glass out of his hand, pat his back, anything - Tony’s eyes are wide and, worst of all, terrified.

Loki’s organs liquefy, dripping to pool at his feet.

“Excuse me,” Tony manages to cough out, setting the remainder of his drink on the bar’s countertop, practically running toward the restrooms.

Calvin patts Loki’s shoulder in what is obviously meant to be a reassuring move. “I have a feeling that was meant to be a secret for a bit longer, son. Don’t worry,” the old man winks. “I won’t tell.”

He leaves Loki alone at the bar. Part of Loki wishes he hadn’t. Draining the rest of his martini in a single swig, he prays to the Norns to be gentle with his fate. Slowly, he begins after Tony.

The bathroom is empty. As is the second, one floor up. Coat closet filled with nothing but coats. Empty offices and supply closets, one after another after another. Having looked everywhere for nearly an hour, Loki finally finds his lover on the roof of the building, alone. The door closes behind him with a loud noise, and Tony jumps where he stands, turning to find the source of the disturbance.

“May I... may I join you?”

Tony inhales sharply, lets it out in a huff. “Yeah.”

Delicate on his feet, Loki comes to stand at Tony’s side, resting his forearms on the railing as he looks over the city.

“So, uh,” Tony begins. His mouth snaps shut with a click of his teeth, and he sighs. “So, the bracelet you gave me.”

“Yes, the bracelet I gave you.”

“That was you - what? Proposing?”

Loki can’t bear to turn his head, too afraid of what he’ll find in Tony’s eyes. “Yes.”

“You know, uh, you know we Americans usually use rings, and get down on one knee?”

“I do, now.”

“You mean it, though?”

Loki turns his head so quickly to the side it actually stings. “Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

Tony grimaces. “I’m not exactly marriage material.”

Turning his gaze back to the city, Loki sighs.

“Will you take us home?” He hears Tony over the noises of the metropolis below, spread before them in every direction. He doesn’t nod, he merely reaches out and takes hold of one of the lapels of Tony’s jacket, and then, within hardly the span of a heart beat, they are back in the tower, standing in the middle of the living room.

Loki is already walking down the hallway when Tony regains his footing, always left a little dizzy for a moment after they teleport. “Where you going, Lokes?” he calls.

“To bed,” Loki replies, suddenly more tired that he can remember being in the last _century_.

 

\- - - - - - -

Tony doesn’t share his bed that night; the sheets next to Loki are too cold, too well kept, when he wakes.

“Jarvis?”

“Sir?”

“Where’s Anthony.”

“In his lab.”

“Since when?”

“He entered shortly after you arrive home, and has not left.”

“Will you tell him-”

“Sorry, sir, but he’s enacted one of my protocols. I am not to disturb him until he is finished with his work.”

And it’s then that Loki _knows_ ; his era of happiness is over. But, like some kind of pre-programmed automaton, his body rises from the bed and he begins his morning on auto-pilot. When he showers, he can’t remember if he’s washed his hair yet, and ends up doing so three times. He forgets his conditioner altogether. He makes toast and tea for breakfast, but can’t stomach much of either.

His afternoon is spent on the couch, paperwork littering the floor around him, as well as the cushions next to him, red pen in hand as he makes corrections in margins. His book is coming along, but today he doesn't manage to look over more than a few pages without losing his train of thought.

Loki falls asleep on the couch, and wakes up still upon the cushions with a kink in his neck, alone. Jarvis confirms that Tony hasn’t surfaced from the lab at any point, but does assure Loki that he’s at least had something sent down to eat.

He feels sick, but his body runs no fever. He is exhausted, but cannot bring himself to find rest when he sleeps.

Just for a change of pace, he leave the tower. He browses the library’s newest additions, orders something from his favorite corner cafe - a mixture so sweet that it makes his teeth hurt - even goes for a walk through the park.

It doesn’t help.

By midnight, Loki finally comes to terms with it; he knows when he’s unwelcome. It’s never been more clear, at least in regards to Tony. With heavy feet, he shuffles down the hall and into his - no, _Tony’s_ bedroom. He slides a duffle bag from where it’s jammed under what once he was happy to call his side of the bed. No longer does he feel he can call it such.

 _What a fool I’ve let myself become,_ he laments, haphazardly throwing what few belongings he has into the bag, ones that are truly _his_ , not _his and Tony’s_. _Of course Stark doesn’t wish to be tied down,_ he thinks, bitterly.

It had all been too good to be true, hadn’t it? Fuck. What was the phrase Tony used with such flippancy? _That could be the title of my autobiography._

“Jarvis,” he calls out, for what he knows will be the last time.

“What may I do for you, sir?”

“Please inform Anthony of my departure.”

“Of course. At what time shall I report that you’ll be returning?”

Loki sighs, feeling hollow, empty. “I won’t be.”

“Sir?”

“I won’t be returning, Jarvis.”

The AI is alarmingly silent for a moment.

Loki jumps when Tony’s image flickers into view on one of the walls. “Lokes? Jarvis says you’re leaving.”

He doesn’t look to the screen; he can’t. If he looks upon the face of the man he loves so dearly, his resolve will crumble, his mask will slip. “He’s correct.”

“He... he said you’re not planning on coming back.”

“All you had to say was no, Anthony.”

“Hey, that’s not-”

“I’ve gathered my things. If I’ve forgotten anything, call upon Jane; she’ll contact Thor for you, and he’ll bring me whatever I’ve missed.”

“Loki, don’t you fucking-”

“Unless there is anything else I’ve overlooked, I’ll be taking my leave now.”

There is no response. Loki dares a look to the screen, but is surprised to see Tony absent.

He hears footsteps, quickly beating against the floor. A moment later, Tony stands, panting, hair wild, in the doorway.

“Don’t leave,” he pants. “Don’t.”

Loki huffs, sourly. “What reason have I to stay?”

“Would you quit being a fucking cryptic _dick_ already?”

Loki snarls as he advances a few steps, hot anger welling up in him. “You insult me further, and yet expect me to stay?”

He looks on as Tony presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry - I - _fuck._ ” He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Please. Just - please just let me show you something.”

Loki almost says no... But then he sees the fear in Tony’s gaze as their eyes meet.

“Please.” Tony begs.

And then, to add further insult to the entire situation, his eyes catch on the bracelet - _his bracelet_ still adorning Tony’s wrist.

“Very well,” he finally concedes, and he cannot explain why. Perhaps some small part of him is clinging to hope where he knows he has none. Perhaps his higher brain functions have ceased.

Tony holds out his hand, but Loki doesn’t respond to the action. After a moment, Tony seems to understand and he spins on his heel, keeping an eye over his shoulder, set on Loki, as he hustles out of the doorway.

Loki follows, duffle bag still in his hands. He doesn’t spare a glance through the living space as he walks through it. He will miss it far too much as it is; there is no need to heap more sadness upon him.

The elevator ride down is spent in a tenuous silence. Loki stares forward as they descend, every so often catching Tony peering at him by the corners of his gaze.

When they reach the correct floor, Tony, still keeping his eyes trained on Loki, leads them across the lab. Against one of the far corners sit all manner of instruments. But that isn't what catches Loki's attention; littered across the table and floor alike are _hundreds_ of metal rings in every manner and color and alloy, some simple bands, others far more ostentatious, faceted with precious stones.

"Anth -Stark." Loki can't help the curl of guilt that shudders through him when Tony flinches at the use of his surname. Usually 'Stark' is reserved for when Loki is exceptionally pissed at him. "What in the stars are you-"

Loki freezes when he turns back to Tony. The engineer is down on one knee, his two hands cupped together like a bowl, and his what rests in them are even _more_ rings.

"You beat me to it," Tony breathes, and Loki can hear the tremor in his voice. “I've been working for weeks to make you a ring - do you have any idea how hard it is to sneak around and find your ring size? - and you went and fucked it up by beating me to the punch."

Loki swallows, hard.

"I was planning on asking you in two weeks, on New Year's."

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Loki shudders.

“That’s all I get?”

Loki consciousness snaps back into him, like twine pulled taught to release an arrow, and he moves just as quick. In a flash of movement, he has Tony by the neck of his shirt, hoisted a few inches off of the ground so that they are eye to eye. “You ignored me,” he seethes. “If I had any less love for you than I do, I would have left you the night we came back from that ridiculous party.”

“Hey, you pulled the rug out from under me! I’ve been fucking planning this for months, and then - BAM, you make me dinner, feed me some fucking fruit, give me some fucking jewlery and...”

Tony swallows as he trails off.

“And?” Loki prompts.

“And I just realized that I should have seen that coming.” He sighs, wiggles in Loki’s grip. “That was pretty much how I was planning on proposing to you: dinner, dessert, present. Of course, planning being the key word in that sentence because _you_ -”

“Me? Oh, don’t you dare, Stark, don’t you _dare_ -”

“Oh, I _dare_. You botched the whole thing and-”

“I’ve been traipsing across realm after realm, finding only the _rarest_ materials to use in the creation of the band I gave you-”

“ _Hello?_ Hundreds of rings around here, Loki. _Hundreds._ I’ve been making so many of these fuckers a day that I lost count after I bypassed the five-hundred mark-”

“Weeks of travel-”

“Months of work-”

“And the question still stands-”

“ **Will you marry me?** ”

Those last words, the words they shout in unison, echo off of the walls of the room. The both of them are red in the face, breathing heavily, and - if only momentarily - bereft of words. For one single, solitary moment in time, both Loki Laufeyson and Anthony Stark are completely and utterly devoid of cognitive thought, bereaved of witticism, robbed of snark and quip.

And then the moment shatters because, like the madmen they are, they begin to laugh. Loki lowers Tony back onto the floor merely because he needs both hands to clutch his stomach, while Tony gasps for breath, bent in double.

“You fucking asshole,” Tony gasps, looping an arm around Loki’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

“You brazen imbecile,” Loki retorts, allowing his next words to be pushed aside in favor of Tony’s tongue as it sweeps, hot and wet, across his own.

And just like that, the laughter is gone, replaced by something much deeper, much baser.

Tony groans as Loki’s arm snake around his waist, bringing their bodies against one another, the argument forgotten.

There is naught but one thing on Loki’s mind, one single end to this night; with his beloved, his fiancé, his betrothed, his _Tony_ , breathless beneath him, naked, trembling, and **_his,_** in every conceivable way of the word.

Tony makes a fist with the material he’s gathered in hand of the back of Loki’s shirt, and a delicious thrill rakes up Loki’s spine as Tony moans into his mouth. Long, pale arms encircle and press them against one another tighter still, as if somehow their very atoms might make way for those of the other.

It’s all a very similar idea, considering what Loki intends to accomplish by dawn’s break.

Tony pulls away for breath, but Loki doesn’t miss a beat - his lips coast across Tony’s jaw, to the shell of his ear, and down his neck to where it meets with his shoulder.

Like in war, Loki takes no prisoners; he clamps his teeth down at the soft flesh of Tony’s nape, knowing he bites hard enough to bruise. But, if it bothers Tony in any capacity, he isn’t one to raise a fuss, for all the engineer manages to do in response is breathe in a hiss that fades into a moan, at which point Loki advances, palming his mortal’s denim-clad posterior upwards. Tony’s legs wind themselves around Loki’s waist without further ado, no stranger to the dance they’ve both fallen into.

“Fuck, Lokes,” Tony breathes as his neck is laved by Loki’s tongue. “I-”

Loki steals the sense from his words when he manages to slip a hand down Tony’s pants, fumbling with the fly.

“Bed,” Tony manages to grind out.

Loki snarls against warm skin, angered that his love is still capable of verbal communication.

“Bed,” Tony whimpers again. This time, however, Loki hears the desperation behind the words, and reaches out for his magic. The world twists sideways for a moment, and the next time either draw air, it is from the confines of their bedroom.

A man on a mission, Loki stalks toward the bed. He crawls atop it on his knees, then comes to rest at it’s very center, easing Tony onto his back.

And Tony is smiling up at him again, his eyes alight.

“What is it?” Loki asks when Tony, once again, begins to laugh.

“I love you.”

It’s far from the first time Tony’s spoken those words to Loki, and while they aren’t often voiced because that’s just how Tony Stark works, Loki knows there is no way it will be the last. A smile tugs at his lips. “Is that all?”

Tony snorts, although his smile remains. “Does there have to be more?”

Loki can’t quite pin the reason, but Tony’s words are sobering. He smiles warmly down at the insufferable creature who holds his heart.

With calloused fingers, Tony frames Loki’s face, sweeping the pads of his thumbs across thin, pink lips. “I was gonna propose on New Year’s Eve,” he confesses, not for the first time that night.

Loki leans back, rests his weight upon his heels, and looks down upon the creature who has his heart. Lithe fingers sweep under the faded cotton shirt, tips just grazing the outer shell of the housing of Tony’s arc reactor.

“Oh?” Loki prompts, finally divesting Tony of his shirt.

Tony shivers as short-trimmed fingernails skim down his chest, catching - albeit gingerly - his nipples. “Yeah,” he continues as Loki’s fingers graze over the waistline of his jeans, moving further south. “Reserved a table at the French restaurant you like so much and - ah!”

Smiling wickedly, Loki continues to strip Tony of his clothing, layer by layer, his fingers trailing over exposed flesh. Shoes have been dealt with, and socks will come next, despite his dalliances over the fly of Tony’s pants.

“And when I say I reserved a table, I really mean I bought out the entire restaurant for the night."

A soft bite against the inside of his thigh makes Tony jerk, but Loki’s firm grip insures that the engineer stays put. He leans up and over, shifting his weight from his heels to rest on his hand, which he presses into the comforter next to Tony’s head. A feather-light touch on his inseam is all that it takes for Tony’s words to jumble in his mouth, and Loki grins at the power he still seems to have over the man, even after so many nights sharing a bed.

“Found another bottle of - ah - of that ice wine we had last time we were there. It’s the last bottle of that particular vintage; the winery went out of business and - oh, god, Loki!”

Tony’s head jerks back and Loki looks on as he brings his hands up to fist into the pillow where his head rests. Loki’s fingers, deft and proficient, have already pulled Tony’s cock free of the confines of his pants, and he swipes his thumb across the head, the appendage already thick and stiff in his grasp.

“What then, love?” Loki practically purrs, knowing, and quite proud, of his ability to render the most talkative man in the nine realms speechless.

Tony pants for a moment, and Loki grants another to him, keeping his hand still as Tony gathers his wits.

“The wine?” he encourages. Call him selfish, for he knows it to be true; Loki greedily soaks up Tony’s words, thrilled beyond the very reaches of the stars themselves that his lover is just as equally taken with him as he is of his precious creature, that Tony loves him enough in return to think to ask them to entwine their lives together.

“Last - last bottle. The band would be playing after dessert, and I’d ask - I’d ask you to-” Tony hisses, back arching off of the bed at Loki’s ministrations.

The god of mischief smiles sinfully, enjoying what lovely sounds his mere fingers can work out of his beloved. “What would you ask me?” he asks, as if he truly doesn’t know, digits skimming the hair at the base of Tony's cock.

“To dance - to - dance, and then I’d - fuck!”

Loki hums around Tony’s cock as it slides, heavy, over his tongue. A hand fumbles over the back of his head, carding through his hair before gripping tightly, and he marvels over what reactions he can still pull from his beloved, his _betrothed_. Oh, how his heart sings as he thinks of the word! He swallows Tony further, feels the thick cock in his mouth hit the back of his throat, hears the wanton sounds Tony makes as he shudders beneath him. Even after months together, Loki pulls great joy from how Tony responds to his attentions, his touches. In a thousand lifetimes, he’d never tire of such noise - and lucky for him, he now could put such a sentiment to the test.

_Tony is his._

Tony tugs on his hair, and Loki turns up to face his love, cock still taken to the root in his mouth.

“Too soon,” is all Tony has to breathe before Loki refrains from further movement. Tony’s cock, slick with spit, falls free from the vacuum of Loki's mouth and bounces once, twice, before it comes to rest against the flushed skin of his abdomen.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin the fun so early,” Loki admonishes gently.

“God, Lokes - you make me want to blow my fucking load like a teenager,” Tony pants, and Loki admires the beautiful tones that have colored Tony’s chest. Possessiveness sits heavy in his heart for a moment, pleased beyond measure that he’s the one to pull such a reaction from his love.

“We can’t have that.” His smile is mischievous.

“You’re still in all of your clothing; how is that possible?" Tony hoists himself up enough that he comes to rest his weight on his elbows. “It’s my turn for a little-”

But Tony swallows his words as Loki pushes them back into his mouth with his tongue. “Oh, no, my sweet,” he croons, devilishly playing with Tony’s tongue all the while. “This night is mine.” To further his point, Loki stretches up, catches Tony’s hands, and pushes them above their heads. It’s a move practiced, and Tony knows the game well; he won’t move his arms.

And Tony, who is the kind of man to find himself using sharp words as his weapons, falls quiet. He understands that when they fell together in such passion, a snarky quip on his part doesn’t always further the mood in an agreeable direction.

Loki leans back, looks upon the heaving form of his lover. Tony looks up at him with such naked admiration in his eyes, and it warms Loki through. Surely no other creature was or is closer than Tony in regards to his heart, but even still, Loki almost finds himself hesitating.

Almost.

But not this night. This night, he will take Anthony Stark apart with little save his fingers and tongue, with his body, with his _love._

As if sensing the change in mood, Tony sighs dreamily, then cranes his neck back. Loki attacks without pause, raking his teeth down Tony’s neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone as he descends.

Instead of taking Tony into his mouth once more, Loki leans back. He strokes Tony’s upper thigh for a moment before giving it a light slap. “Over,” he commands, and Tony doesn’t so much as blink in hesitation.

Loki procures a tube of lubricant from the drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed. With gentle hands, he maneuvers Tony up onto his knees, who raises his ass up into the air at the same time he buries his face into his pillow.

Loki smirks; he can’t help it. Tony’s reaction lets him know exactly how much his lover enjoys what’s to happen next.

The tube in uncapped, and Loki doesn’t waste any effort; he gives the plastic a good squeeze, and a stream flows from the nozzle directly where he aims it.

Tony keens as Loki rubs at the tight ring of muscles with a delicate finger, simply catching, not quite pressing in. No, not yet. There will time later, perhaps, but Loki is a god on a mission.

With one hand, he takes up Tony’s cock, swiping at the head with his thumb. Desire flares up within him anew at the movement, as his finger slides through the beads of precum at the slit, at knowing just how hard his attentions make Tony. He will endeavor to always pull such beautiful reactions from his beloved, of that he swears, even if only silently.

But what truly sends a bolt straight to his own cock is the helpless, hapless sound that crawls out of Tony’s throat the moment Loki’s talented tongue presses against his opening. With one hand splayed against Tony’s right ass cheek, Loki holds his lover in place as he beings his work - nay, his worship.

Tony keens under his care, hips bucking. No matter how many times he’s able to manage it, Loki always finds himself quite appeased when he can render the great Tony Stark incapable of rational thought.

Loki hears his own name chanted, like a mantra, and he smiles at the implication; he’s not earned the name Silver Tongue in jest. With the hand that previously was holding Tony still, Loki eases his grip and moves it to aid his mouth. With his other hand, he continues to stroke Tony’s cock, and he can’t help his own pleased moan when his beloved begins to fuck into the grip of his hand and then backward, onto his fingers and tongue. The strawberry- cheesecake flavored lubricant is sweet against his tongue, but underneath is the deep, rich taste of Tony, _his Tony_ , a taste he will never tire of.

It’s only a matter of time before Tony is reduced to begging.

It’s no use trying to deny that he doesn’t love to hear Tony so wrecked; his own cock presses heavy against the seam of his pants. Yet no matter how much he wants to take himself up in hand, Loki has other plans.

“Please, Lokes. Please. I’m going - too soon - not-”

With three fingers pressed into Tony’s slick opening, Loki crooks his fingers. “Come for me, darling. Let me hear my name fall from your lips so beautifully.”

As though he were simply waiting for permission, Tony empties into Loki’s hand, nearly choking on his own breath.

Behind him, Loki pushes his lover down so that he might rest upon the bed covers. It’s several moments before Tony is able to catch his breath. “You’re going to kill me.”

Loki fondly scoffs. “With sex?”

“Yeah,” Tony says as he looks up at Look from his back. The glow of his arc reactor illuminates his face in a way the god has come to adore. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” He wipes his forehead with the back of one of his wrists. “You pretend to have seen the error of your ways, lull me into a false sense of security, and then, as part of your long-con, you kill me with mind-blowing sex.”

At that, Loki genuinely laughs. “You mortals; always telling such tall tales.”

Tony smiles in return, holding out his hands as he opens and closes his hands into fists several times.

Loki leans over Tony, bracing himself on his elbows and knees. He feels Tony’s laugh as their mouths pressed together. “I love magic,” Tony confesses as he pulls back, running a hand on Loki’s suddenly naked back.

“And after I fuck you into the mattress so well that you forget your name, I’ll remind you, since at your every other encounter with it ends in you announcing your ever-loving hatred for it.”

Tony shivers under him. “God, how early is too early for me to get hard again?”

Loki smiles against Tony’s lips as he waves his hand through the air in a minute gesture.

Breath suddenly caught in his throat, Tony’s back arches, pressing their chests flush against one another. He takes a moment as he waits for his pulse to ease before he pulls Loki in for another kiss. “I said it once, I’ll say it again; you’re going to be the death of me.” He arches up of his own volition, rubbing his once-more hard cock against Loki’s.

Snarling, Loki bites into the tender flesh of Tony’s neck.

He feels Tony’s legs wrap around his waist, ankles crossing. Then, there is a guiding hand on his cock, lining him up, and, without any further preamble, slides in.

He’s already breathing heavily, his face pressed to Tony’s warm skin. Tony, who has his arms around Loki’s neck, arching his back, shakes beneath him.

“How are you this hot, this tight, this _perfect_?" Loki purrs, pulling at the shell of Tony’s ear with his teeth.

Below him, Tony is still, allowing himself time to adjust.

“My love?” Loki asks after a few moments.

Tony groans, his walls spasming around Loki’s cock. “Talk to me,” he begs. “Like that.”

Loki pulls out gently, pushes in slowly, begins to move, while a litany of praise falls from his lips and into his beloved’s ear. “So perfect, so hot, my love - you’re like nothing I’ve ever felt, like nothing I will ever find elsewhere, like nothing in entire star systems the universe over. Oh, but you’re so much more; you’re made of stardust, the very universe experiencing itself.”

He picks up a pace that is just shy of brutal, but from the sounds that Tony makes beneath him, Loki knows that it’s what they both need. He speaks his claim of Tony directly into the mortal’s ears as he thrusts in and out, slowed by nothing.

“Loki, Loki - oh, oh, Loki-”

“The stars themselves are jealous of the way you outshine them, and yet here you are, driven nearly mad by the touch of me.”

“Yes - god, yes!”

“And you are _mine_ , Anthony Stark. I will write my name on your skin with my mouth, will stake my claim with the very seed I spill inside of you.”

Tony shakes and cries out beneath him, almost lacking the thought process to formulate any and all words save for that of his lover’s name. “Loki!”

“You are _mine_ , utterly and completely, and I will spend an eternity proving such to you.”

Loki feels Tony clench around him - nearly stealing the very air from his lungs as he does so - and hardly a breath’s span later, feels Tony spills himself in what little space there is between their bodies. It’s enough knowing that he’s made Tony come on his cock alone that tips him over the edge. As if desperate, he buries himself as deeply as he can inside of his lover, crying his name into his sweat-slicked shoulder. He rides the aftershocks, pressed as deeply inside of Tony as is physically possible, and not once does he pause in his praise.

“So perfect, my love, my darling. Like the sun, like the moon; I cannot live without either, and so I cannot live without you, for you are both to me.”

“You mean it?” Tony gasps out.

“That I love you like that which gives life, that I cannot live without you?”

“Eternity.”

Loki smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth, feels the way Tony’s mouth is playing with a smile as well.

“We shall find out together, won’t we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this piece a read. I hope you enjoyed it! I love kudos and comments.


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